Travel: A Path to World Peace

By Barbara Plum aka AB Plum

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness …"  (Innocents Abroad)

On the other hand, there's no place like home.

After a summer of living in Denmark, with side trips to Iceland, Scotland, Finland, and Estonia, I boarded what I hoped was my last airplane for a while on August 31. We stood in line to clear security at Kastrup, and I wondered if any other country besides our Scandinavian haven had withstood such an onslaught of tourists.

Despite the hordes—and my being patted down at the airport—the multitudes and I proceeded to our flights without incident. Standing in front of Customs, I felt a frisson of tension. (We learned before departing the US that Iceland is part of the Schengen Area).

So? You might ask.

Schengen Agreement … 

This Agreement allows people and goods to cross 26 EU borders without visas or other kinds of border controls. US citizens can remain in the entire area a total of 90 days within a 180-day period. Pretty straight forward. (My husband traveled on his Danish passport and so avoided the "rules).

Yes, but …

I knew about the restrictions before leaving the US on May 27 for Iceland. Iceland is part of the Schengen Agreement. Six days there before going to Denmark meant I would exceed the 90-day allotment. I called the Danish Consulate near my home in late April and got the reassurance that I could go to any police station in Denmark and receive an extension of my 90 days.

Once upon a time, yes. In June 2019 … I had to go to Danish Immigration with a long form filled out by my husband's lawyer-cousin. The clerks who handled my request warned us I would very likely have my request rejected. (About a hundred people—Mid-Eastern women, mostly, with small kids and babies—queued up to other lines to submit their papers). I never learned the outcome of their petitions, but I realized my extension mattered nothing compared to immigrants seeking asylum.

Ever optimistic about my own case, I thought playing the "family" card would over-ride bureaucracy. Family is a very big deal in Denmark. My husband's family had planned a major reunion for us and dozens of cousins on August 25. Our adult kids were coming from the US to take part in the festivities. Et cetera. Et cetera. Etc. …

Nothing personal … and no narrow-mindedness … just the rules …

In less than a week, we received the official word, delivered by Priority Mail. I had to leave on the 24^th or risk a hefty fine and exclusion from the EU for an unspecified time if I violated the rules.

A trip to the American Embassy resulted in no hope. Naively, I assumed someone in the US Embassy would take up my case. Denmark, I learned, now has some of the strictest immigration policies in Europe. And no, I could expect no help from US personnel.

A loophole …

A light shone at the end of the tunnel though. One loophole existed. I could leave Denmark for 6 days (the number by which I would exceed my stay) and then return to Denmark, giving me a total of 90 days in the country.

But … but … where could I go?

The UK or Croatia. Or, of course, back to the States. Choices, choices.

Brexit mania was all over the European news in mid-July. Did I really want to go to London under those circumstances?

After five minutes of discussion about cheaper airfares, shorter flights, and another visit to Croatia, my husband and I chose Scotland for our sojourn. I'd always wanted to tip-toe through the heather—if I could visit during a rain-free period.

Uh-huh.

Raindrops keep dancin' on my head …

Sunshine shone on us every day except for our bus trip to Stirling to visit the castle. Since we'd enjoyed perfect weather at Edinburgh Castle, we didn't complain. Dozens of Scotsmen told us how lucky we were not to have to resort to rain-gear, and we agreed.

Our six days in Edinburg flew by. We missed the heatwave that hit the week after we left, and we returned to Copenhagen almost glad for the need to make the side trip.

And yes, we tried haggis—almost edible with a couple of cold local beers.

Our trips to Finland and Estonia, planned before our imposed trip to Scotland, proved uneventful. Great weather. Manageable crowds. Quiet and relaxing.

Heading home …

By the last week of August, despite an amazing summer, we were ready to go home on the 31^st.  An eleven-hour flight lay ahead of us so we decided to check for lounge availability and pay for a more quiet place to relax before takeoff. Pay, because Norwegian Air no longer provided free lounge entrance for Premium passengers. If we upgraded to Premium-Plus status, then we could stay for the 2-hour wait time for free. Another thousand dollars seemed excessive …

As we checked with the desk attendant regarding available space, she told us the charge would be $40 each.  We hesitated. Then, a young woman behind us, offered to make us her guests. Surprised, but quite happy, we accepted. We thanked her and discovered she'd grown up in Silicon Valley. She now lives in Boston, but the world is a small place.

We settled in with coffee and comfy chairs and marveled at our good luck. "Travel [really] is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness."

How about you. Do your travel experiences support Twain's statement?

*******

When not traveling the world, Barbara Plum and her alter ego, AB Plum, live in Silicon Valley. Her latest romantic comedy, Crazy Daze and a Knight is available FREE through Thursday. 

STUFF HAPPENS—READY OR NOT

by AB Plum

STUFF HAPPENS—READY OR NOT

Everyone would probably agree:  travel requires flexibility.

Moving to another country for three months demands a lot of flexibility.

As I am learning during my three-month great adventure in Copenhagen. (It's not all about the pastries).

The first big flex point for me came as soon as we reached our apartment.

As a walker, I always check out places to walk. Quiet streets, little traffic, and sidewalks on both sides of the street appeared promising.

Until … I realized bicyclists had their own routes running parallel to the sidewalks. And cars could park halfway up on those same sidewalks. Which, by the way, were blocks of two rows of cement blocks side by side, separated by three-by-three cobblestone squares running down the middle. Grates, front steps, and boutique displays occupied the space next to the buildings. Another walker coming toward me left about two inches to navigate. Damp or dry, those cobblestones were treacherous.

Time to flex.

Luckily for me, a cemetery is about a quarter of a mile from our apartment. I figured out if I walked early in the mornings, I avoided most pedestrians, bikers, and parked cars. When I walk to and from the train—about half a mile from the apartment—I still clench my teeth a lot. Nonchalance comes with time and practice.

Another flex point came with settling into an apartment without a dishwasher in a kitchen about half the size of my own. Hey, I grew up with my sisters as co-dishwasher. I could cope. Hands in sudsy water might even generate conversations with several stubborn characters.

Cooking with a minimal number of utensils (as in 1 skillet and 1 sauce pan) tapped some ingenuity as did a refrigerator with frost on the walls. (Yes, I contacted the apartment owner. He suggested turning the temperature from 2 to 1 not worry). Okay …

Elevators have never appealed to me. In a building over a hundred years old, they creep me out. On the other hand, the two days the elevator stopped operating and I climbed sixty-six stairs to my penthouse apartment, I could hardly wait to test my claustrophobic fears.

Now, I step into my vertical coffin, compartmentalize my terrors, and bend my knees each time we lurch to a stop. Flexibility is good for the body and the soul.

My biggest challenge?

My new laptop. The touchscreen drives me crazy. I realize this technology has zip to do with living in Denmark or anywhere else. But … I feel as if I’m in hell every time I try to access my email, touch the wrong note, and end up looking at something I intended to delete. I have seriously begun to doubt that I do, in fact, possess opposable thumbs. Flexibility only extends so far.

************  

AB Plum aka Barbara Plum is spending the summer in Denmark, putting the finishing touches on her latest romantic comedy, Crazy Daze and a Knight, due for release in mid-August.

When Writers Travel

Who else loves to travel?

We just returned from Southeast Asia. I’m not sure if this was a bucket list trip or simply an area of the world we were curious about. Both my husband and I were too young for what we call the Vietnam War, but I remember the protests and the horrors of the war shown on the nightly news. Soldiers being spit on and called “Baby Killers.” The MIA bracelets. Four Dead in Ohio. (My blogmate’s books are set in the era, by the way.) The guys in the deli where I worked during college with their bravissimo: “I was stoned the whole time,” and our church youth advisor, a then, newly-minted lieutenant, who would not talk about his time in Vietnam. My brother-in-law, a medic during the war, who also does not discuss his experiences there.

I could go on, but I think you get the drift. Or maybe you remember.

Then there’s Cambodia. A close friend’s daughter served there with the Peace Corp and kept me intrigued with a running series of Facebook posts. And who isn’t moved by the atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge?

So we went.

And we loved Saigon. 

The locals call District 1, which is the old town, “Saigon” while the sprawling city is referred to as Ho Chi Min City. There’s energy and optimism, friendly people, and 6 million scooters (mostly being driven by young, texting locals). 

One of the things we did was a street food tour – vendors set up, legally or not so much, wherever there’s an open spot of pavement. Hygiene may be optional for some of those vendors. 😉

Our guide for the tour said Saigon is in to “Capitalistic Communism.” They relate to Cuba, consider Russia a socialist country, and think North Korea is a disgrace. By the way, they still don’t like the Chinese, even as China pours investment money into the country, and the French… well…the south doesn’t hate them as much as the north. But you know, we never ran into anyone who openly disliked Americans. Instead they all wanted to practice their English on us.

Go figure.

Although the War Remnants Museum, chronicling the “American War,” was a sobering reminder of what a horrible war this was for both sides.

We worked our way north with stops in Hanoi where we checked out the Hanoi Hilton and learned it was a massive torture prison built by the French (see “they hate the French” above, along with the 95 years of French oppression). 

Ironically enough, the Vietnamese have huge respect for John McCain and his decision to stay with his men rather than using name and position to bail himself out. (cough, cough, bone spurs.)

But damn, the coffee and cheese were French and amazing.

On to Halong Bay, which was awe inspiring. Seriously. I thought it would be water, a small bay, with a few of those rock monoliths. A picture may be worth a few words here.

   

And on we traveled, through Cambodia and down the Mekong, back to Vietnam. So many glimpses of a different lifestyle. A third world country struggling to move ahead. Pride in the remnants of a kingdom in the past. Something beyond tolerance for the religious practices embodied by hundreds of temples. The quiet serenity of sunrise at Angkor Watt. 

Terrifying safety issues in manufacturing. Health and hygiene issues that made us cringe and wonder why we obsess over plastic straws. 

The sadness of the long-term impact of the Khmer wiping out every person in the country who could read and write and the current struggle of the Cambodians to find their footing. 

The search for foreign investment in the face of those struggles. Quiet disdain for the puppet government put in place by the Vietnamese, who also installed 8 million landmines to keep the Khmer out of Vietnam. (There are roughly 4 million mines still hidden in the ground. They pay children $1 for each turned in mine – people also use the explosives to blast fish in ponds, but that’s a separate story – and many bear the missing feet and hands as a sickening reminder of how dangerous those devices are.)

What can a writer learn? 

A sensory overload? That iced Vietnamese coffee is wonderful? An appreciation for friends and a zest for life? A sobering realization three generations of Vietnamese live in an area roughly the size of my living room. An appreciation for air conditioning (gah, I grew up in the South and yeah, Robin Williams had it right. Vietnamese weather? Hot and damn hot.)

Maybe it’s getting outside our own heads for a while. Trying new things. New experiences. Learning about a new-to-me ancient culture. Meeting new friends and recapturing a curiosity about the rest of the world.

Whatever you want to call it, I’m glad I went. And I’m already eyeing another area of the globe…

What the most interesting place you’ve visited lately?

An award-winning author of financial mysteries, Cathy Perkins writes twisting dark suspense and light amateur sleuth stories.  When not writing, she battles with the beavers over the pond height or heads out on another travel adventure. She lives in Washington with her husband, children, several dogs and the resident deer herd.  Visit her at http://cperkinswrites.com or on Facebook 

Sign up for her new release announcement newsletter in either place.

She's hard at work on sequel to The Body in the Beaver Pond, which was recently presented with the Claymore Award. 

Travel Plans aka Adventures

by Sparkle Abbey

What's that saying about the best laid plans? Oh, right...the full quote is "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." From the Scottish poet, Robert Burns.

It seems that particular quote is often true for us. And especially when it involves travel plans. Or as we like to call them travel adventures.

More times than we can count we've had flight delays, road construction delays and bad weather (ice, snow, thunderstorm) delays. Heck, we've even had a tumbleweed delay on a flight into Denver. Now, there have been a few times when the travel plans gone awry, were out own fault. We may or may not have missed a turn and ended up in Michigan. Twice.

Has anything like that ever happened to you?

We have, more than once, completely missed mystery conferences or apperances because our rebooking couldn't get us on-site in time. Not good. So you can understand our trepidation as we booked our flight for the Malice Domestic conference at the end of this month. We love attending Malice Domestic. We love meeting readers, reconnecting with friends and fellow authors, and hanging out with book people. So, we're thinking positive travel thoughts and hoping for smooth sailing...er...flying.

If you're planning to be at Malice we look forward to seeing you there. In fact, if you see us at Malice we're happy to share a cocktail or a coffee and hear some of your travel adventures. Or perhaps you'd like to share here?

Sparkle Abbey is the pseudonym of mystery authors Mary Lee Woods and Anita Carter. They’ve chosen to use Sparkle Abbey as their pen name on this series because they liked the idea of combining the names of their two rescue pets – Sparkle (ML’s cat) and Abbey (Anita’s dog).

The authors co-write the best-selling Pampered Pets Mystery Series which focuses on the wacky world of precious pedigrees, pampered pooches, and secrets in posh Laguna Beach, California. The main characters and amateur sleuths are Texas cousins, Caro Lamont, a pet therapist, and Melinda Langston, a pet boutique owner. The two would join forces and work together if they were speaking, but they’re not.  Midwest Book Review calls the series “A sassy and fun mystery!”

At Malice Domestic this year Sparkle Abbey (aka Anita and Mary Lee) will be on the Murderous Wit panel at 3:00 PM on Saturday along with Paula Gail Benson, Ginger Bolton and Lida Sideris.

Traveling in the Spicoli Way

by Bethany Maines

Next week I will be making, what is turning out to be an annual pilgrimage to New York City to visit my editor and watch a friend graduate from Columbia (Goooo… Lions?). When I started this whole writing thing I specifically targeted LA agents because I thought it would be a heck of a lot easier to fly from the Evergreen State to the Golden State. I was absolutely correct, of course – travel out to the Empire State (that’s your nickname New York, seriously?) kind of bites, particularly since some dude invented the shoe bomb. Or the Underwear Bomb.  Next thing you know there’ll be the Hair Bomber and we’ll all have to shave. And I swear the 3oz liquid debacle is fully sponsored by the water vendors on the other side of security, but that is beside the point.

The point is that I didn’t want an agent in New York, but Fate, as per its usual modus operandi, had other plans and now mocks me with every trip to the East Coast. Which isn’t to say I don’t heart my agent with big googly eyes (little hearts going pwap! over my head), and I’m not extremely grateful to be able to visit NYC, because I am. I just keep thinking that maybe this year my vacation will be someplace more palm tree oriented than the Big Apple. I miss palm tree vacations – they come with coconuts and beaches and sometimes giant turtles (See the picture? That turtle swam right by me!).

But there are benefits to visiting a place repeatedly. For one thing, you know when it’s being faked on television. OK, maybe that’s not the primary benefit, but it is a good one (Don’t think I don’t remember you Ally McBeal and all your fake Boston sets). Traveling is always a window onto another place and by visiting it repeatedly you start to really understand the cultural ecosystem of that town and how far that ecosystem spreads.

It wasn’t until my second visit to New York that I understood just how very New York Sesame Street was. From Oscar’s crappy garbage can, to the street sign, to the Brown Stone houses, the main street in every toddlers life is a New York street.  Or the bizarre rubber boot fetish that currently holds sway in fashion. The that makes a lot more sense when you realize that even in the summer, New York City is home to a billion disgusting, fetid puddles waiting to envelop sandal clad feet. Each visit reveals some further facet of how New York is different, but also how it’s connected to me.  And while it may not have a lot of palm trees, the mai tais still taste good, and as Fast Times at Ridgemont High pointed out – “Wherever you are, that’s the place to be.”